All My Nightmares
by Olive Drab
Summary: Things go wrong during a visit to the orphanage, and someone finds themselves in need of help.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Have fun, kids," said BJ, squinting into the sunshine. "I wish I was going with you - looks like it's going to be a fine afternoon." He dumped the large hamper he was carrying into the back of a jeep.

"I would be more than happy to give up my seat," grunted Charles Winchester, adding another box."

BJ grinned. "Sorry, Charles - my seat's staying right where it is. Ryan isn't out of the woods yet. My patient, my responsibility."

"The children really need our help, Major," said Father Mulcahy as he climbed behind the wheel of a second jeep. "That bug that went round the orphanage hit some of them pretty hard. The least we can do is give everyone a quick check-up. And extra rations are always welcome over there."

Charles cast a withering glance in his direction. "Yes indeed, Father. When I became a thoracic surgeon, it was with the express aim of spending hours in the company of hordes of small children with runny noses and sticky fingers."

"Well, I'm looking forward to a change of scenery," said Margaret Houlihan as she and Nurse Baker joined them. The two women were each carrying a box of equipment, which they stowed securely alongside the hampers. "In fact, I asked Colonel Potter if I could go instead of sending one of the other nurses. And twenty-five children is hardly a horde, Charles."

"You _volunteered_ for this?" Charles was amazed.

BJ slapped him on the shoulder. "Never mind, Charles," he said sympathetically. "I'll think of you while I'm sitting out in my deckchair, enjoying a cold drink and a good book. Might even play a little music…."

Charles glared at him. Margaret finished arranging their supplies and wiped the dust from her hands, then looked around the little group in irritation. "Where's Pierce? Trust him to hold everything up."

"Coming, my klaxon-voiced beauty!" Hawkeye Pierce emerged from the Swamp carrying a carton marked 'chocolate' under his arm. He tossed it into the back of the jeep and jumped into the front, patting the seat beside him and waggling his eyebrows invitingly. "It's a lovely day for a picnic, Margaret – let's you and I drive off into the wilderness together and spend the afternoon enjoying each other's company."

Margaret gave him a look that would have frozen a penguin in its tracks. "Don't push your luck, buster. If you think I've forgiven you for that disgusting suggestion you made to me in the OR yesterday, you'd better think again."

"I must have missed that," said BJ, sensing a good story.

"Well I heard him," said Charles stiffly. "And Margaret is correct, it was totally inappropriate and deeply offensive."

BJ looked at Hawkeye, eyes glinting with amusement. "Okay, now I've _really_ got to know. What did you say to cause such a Major humour malfunction?"

"Well, I don't have time to go into all the fine details, but let's just say I stillthink it would be the most fun two people could have with the suction gear." Hawkeye sounded amazed that his advances had been spurned.

BJ roared with laughter, but Charles was unimpressed. "Maybe it would be better if you travelled with Father Mulcahy, Major," he said.

"Yeah, keep that woman and her wandering hands away from me," grinned Hawkeye. He winked at Baker, who tried not to laugh as Margaret joined Father Mulcahy.

Charles approached his jeep from the driver's side. "Move over, Pierce."

"You want to drive?"

"No, I do not want to drive; however, I _do_ want to arrive intact, so move over."

The little convoy left the camp, waved off by BJ and Baker, and as they drove through countryside that was parched and brown at the end of a long summer, Hawkeye sat back and took a deep breath. "Isn't it great to get out of that place, even just for a few hours? The sun is out, the war is on hold and life is about as good as it can get in this hellhole, if you ask me. All we need to set us on our merry way is….."

"Pierce," said Charles quietly. "I can just about tolerate sharing a jeep with you for twenty minutes, but if you are even considering singing, I can promise that you will be abandoned in the dust by the roadside long before you reach your first tuneless chorus."

Hawkeye looked hurt. "No operatic duets? We could make beautiful music together."

"Not in your wildest dreams." The absolute disdain in Charles' voice should have killed the conversation dead, but Hawkeye was never one to let an opponent get the last word.

"Strangely, singing arias with you has never featured in my wildest dreams, Charles," he said cheerfully. "My night-time fantasies tend to be concerned with more physically demanding pleasures."

Charles gritted his teeth and decided it was best to concentrate on driving, and the peace lasted for almost two minutes until Hawkeye, his feet resting up on the dashboard, began to whistle loudly, slapping his hands against his legs in time to the jaunty tune he was making up. The jeep came to an abrupt halt, as did Hawkeye's whistling. Charles hurtled from the driver's seat and strode back to where Father Mulcahy had been forced to brake suddenly in the vehicle behind. Breathing heavily, he placed both palms on the jeep's bonnet.

"Father, trust me when I say that a man's life is in danger if you do not swap places with me this instant."

Father Mulcahy could see that the situation had gone past amusing and as usual, it was up to him to play peacekeeper. "By all means, Major," he said. "If you don't mind me saying so, Hawkeye really seems to be rubbing you up the wrong way today."

"This and every other day," said Charles tightly. "That man does not rub - he _grates_." He glared round at Hawkeye, who waggled his fingers back.

Father Mulchay clambered out of the jeep. "If you will excuse me…" he said to Margaret.

With the new drivers in place, they set off once more. As they slowed approaching a sharp corner, the sound of two voices drifted back to the vehicle in the rear, accompanied by enthusiastic toots on the horn. "She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes …yeeha!"

"They'll get us all killed," hissed Margaret, scanning the undergrowth anxiously as if expecting to see a sniper crouching behind every bush.

Charles' voice was that of a man driven far beyond his limits. "Margaret, that would almost certainly be an improvement on the day thus far."

-----------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

**All My Nightmares**

**Chapter Two**

In the event, the afternoon had been quite enjoyable. Although red hot coals applied to the soles of his feet would not have forced Charles to say so, he admitted to himself that the others had been right – it was good to escape from camp for a while. The children had been boisterous but generally co-operative during their check-up, and of course had flocked to Hawkeye and his chocolate like moths to a flame, while he laughed and put them at ease. As usual, Charles had been vaguely envious watching Hawkeye work his magic. _I can make meaningless smalltalk with a roomful of senators_, he found himself thinking. _I can discuss poetry and music with the finest minds in Boston – but I can't connect with people the way he does._

To the children, however, company was company, and after the medicals Charles had been dragged, half-protesting, into an afternoon of games and general chaos. Now the children were in bed and the adults were relaxing outside, drowsy and content. Mr Kim, the orphanage's owner, was smoking an ancient pipe and discussing the state of the roof with Father Mulcahy, while Margaret sat with the two middle-aged women who made up his staff, browsing happily through some magazines she had brought for them. Hawkeye sat on a tree stump, idly lobbing pebbles at a chunk of wood. The air was still and heavy, and there was a general disinclination to move very much.

_If I had a glass of brandy in my hand_, thought Charles, _this would be a fine ending to a surprisingly pleasant day._

"Hey, you know what would make the perfect end to this day?" said Hawkeye suddenly, stretching and yawning. "A cold beer."

"Well, as orphanages are not well known for their well-stocked liquor cabinets, you may have to survive for a little while longer without your booze," snapped Charles, irritated at having his thoughts hijacked.

"I have beer," said Mr Kim, and all heads turned his way. "Some GI's gave it to me last month. It is not a drink I enjoy, so I put it in the cellar under the store hut, back behind the house. It is cool there – it is where I keep our fruit and vegetables in the summer. Sometimes we shelter there if the shelling is too close."

"What are we waiting for?" Hawkeye was on his feet, as alert as a dog on the scent of something rabbitty.

"I really think we should be getting back," said Father Mulcahy reluctantly, looking out towards the nearby hills, where angry-looking clouds were massing. Within the last few minutes, the long evening shadows had vanished and a breeze had materialised from nowhere.

"You will not reach the camp before the storm comes," said Mr Kim. "Heavy rain, and perhaps thunder and lightning. You should stay until it passes. Storms come quickly here, but they pass quickly too. Stay, have a beer, and then go home safe and dry."

"Sounds like a good plan." said Hawkeye. "I remember sitting on the cliffs back home after a hot summer day, watching lightning over the sea. There's nothing like a good storm."

Margaret shuddered. "I'm not sure," she said. "I never know whether to be impressed or terrified."

"Snuggle up to me, and after a few beers you'll be laughing at the lightning," said Hawkeye. "Come on, Margaret – come and help me." He tugged at her hand like a child wanting a playmate and she couldn't help but smile. His mood was infectious. She hauled herself to her feet.

"Okay, okay! You're a terrible influence on me, Pierce."

"Yes, I am. I'm a wicked, wicked man, and one day I'll make a wicked, wicked woman of you, if you ask me nicely."

"Perhaps Major Winchester could go with you," suggested Mr Kim. "The cellar door is quite heavy."

"Yeah, you wouldn't make the lady fetch your drinks, would you, Charles?" Hawkeye couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. "This is your chance to impress the Major with those blue-blooded biceps."

Charles refused to take the bait. "I am quite content right here, thank you. Unlike you, I am capable of enjoying myself while still sober."

"Aw, don't be a party-pooper, Charles." Hawkeye put his hands on the arms of the chair Charles was sitting in and made puppy eyes into his face from a distance of about six inches. "Pleeeeeeeeese."

Exasperated, Charles pushed himself up, forcing Hawkeye to take a couple of rapid steps backwards. "All _right_! If giving the baby his bottle will get me five minutes of peace……" Hawkeye grinned in triumph and scooted round the corner of the building. Charles followed reluctantly.

"I don't know about 'Hawkeye'," said Father Mulcahy with a fond smile. "I sometimes think we should call him Peter Pan."

Mr Kim frowned. "I do not understand – Peter Pan?"

"It's a story about a little boy who never wanted to grow up," explained Margaret, and Mr Kim laughed.

"Ah, I think I see now. Yes, that is very good. There is much of the child in Doctor Pierce." He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and handed them to Margaret. "For the lamps," he said.

It was just starting to rain as they reached the wooden hut. They could hear the wind whispering through the nearby trees, and the temperature had dropped suddenly. The door squeaked and stuck a little as Hawkeye pushed it open, and he sneezed as the dust got into his nose.

"Not much in here," he said, peering around the gloomy interior as the others came in behind him. "I guess they've found a use for most of the stuff we would call junk."

In one corner, next to a pile of netting and a shredded bicycle tyre, he found two oil lamps on top of a box. He shifted the netting with one foot, evicting a host of scurrying, many-legged creatures, and found a heavy wooden hatch set into the floor.

"Give me a hand here, Charles," he said, and between the two of them they hauled the hatch up by its rusted handle and leaned it back against the wall.

Margaret lit the lamps and they all peered into the dark hole. There seemed to be five or six steep steps down to a dirt floor below, but beyond that they could see nothing. Outside, the first thunder grumbled across the sky and rain rattled on the roof.

"Let's make this quick," said Hawkeye. "You two go down and hand the bottles up to me, and we can use this crate to carry them." Charles opened his mouth to argue, but when Margaret walked past him and started down the steps, he picked up the other lamp and followed her.

The cellar was cool but dry, and the smell reminded Charles of walks in the woods at home. He swung his lamp around, making huge shadows dance on the walls. The room was roughly square, and he calculated that six or seven paces would take him to the back wall. He had to hunch his shoulders to stop his head brushing the roof.

"Can you imagine all those children sheltering in here from the shells?" said Margaret, putting her lamp down against one wall. "It must be terrifying for them."

Charles placed his lamp opposite hers, and the pool of their combined light pushed the darkness back into the corners. He began looking through the various boxes and bags heaped in the shadows. "Let's just get this ridiculous escapade over with and be on our way," he said.

"How's it going down there?" came Hawkeye's voice from above.

"Hold on," Margaret called back, moving a half-empty sack of potatoes. "I think I've got something – yes, here it is!" She tucked two dusty bottles under her arms, picked up two more and carried them back to the steps, where she handed them up to Hawkeye. "Come on, Charles," she said. "There's about a dozen more. We might as well take them all."

They were retrieving the last few bottles when the gloom around them lit up for an instant brighter than a midsummer day, and a roar like an enraged giant shook the walls and floor. Margaret jumped, and the bottles she was carrying fell to the floor unnoticed. In the shocked silence that followed they heard a faint creaking noise, which became rapidly louder. There was a huge crash, the world shook again, and a shower of wood, leaves and earth poured through the hole at the top of the stairs, along with a figure who came tumbling down the steps and landed in a heap at the bottom. The hatch slammed like a gunshot as Margaret rushed to his side.

"Are you all right?"

Hawkeye coughed and shook dust from his hair. "Just let me catch my breath," he croaked, pulling himself to his hands and knees. "What the hell was that? Something hit me in the back, and the next thing I know, I'm nose to nose with the worms." He wiped blood from a cut on his left cheek and winced.

"I think it must have been a lightning strike," said Margaret.

Charles had climbed the steps and was pushing against the hatch. "My guess would be that a tree came down. You were lucky this hole was there, Pierce, or you would be in as many splinters as the hut up there." He pushed a shoulder against the door, but it didn't move. "Lord knows how much debris there is on top of this," he said.

Hawkeye twisted round to look up at Charles, and because Margaret had her hand on his shoulder, she felt the transformation sweep through him. His entire body seemed to pull in on itself as every muscle tensed. He began to tremble, and his gaze flickered round the cellar like a cornered animal. When his eyes came back to rest on Margaret they were wide and pleading.

"What is it?" she said, alarmed. And then she remembered.

He cowered against her, his breathing rapid and uneven. His face was the colour of old paper in the lamplight. "Margaret," he whispered. "I – I can't….I don't….."

"Pierce?" said Charles, coming to join them. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Hawkeye didn't seem to hear him. He clung to Margaret's arm, shaking uncontrollably, and she saw sweat on his face in spite of the coolness of the cellar.

Margaret hugged him tighter, and looked up at Charles helplessly.

"Claustrophobia," she said. "He has claustrophobia. He can't stand to be in an enclosed space."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The only sound in the cellar was Hawkeye's hoarse breathing as he shuddered in Margaret's arms.

"Charles!" she said sharply. "Did you hear me?"

Charles dropped to his knees and touched his fingers to Hawkeye's wrist. Then he took him by the shoulders, frowning as he felt the tremors racing through the other man's body.

"Pierce, look at me. Look at me! Listen to my voice."

Hawkeye's eyes - the eyes of a drowning man - latched onto his.

"Good; that's good," said Charles. "Now listen. We are in no danger here. We have air and we have light. People know where we are, and they will be working to get us out as soon as they can." He spoke carefully and distinctly as he might to a child.

Hawkeye nodded jerkily. "I know, I know." His voice was a tight stutter around chattering teeth. "I'm okay."

Charles ignored the lie and continued in the same calm but firm tone. "Your pulse is much too fast and if you can't control your breathing, you are in danger of hyperventilating. Concentrate on your breathing. Try to calm down a little."

"I know the s-s-symptoms, Charles," said Hawkeye, swallowing convulsively. "What do you think I'm try…trying to do?" To their amazement, he laughed – a short, shuddering exhalation of breath. "What now? Are you going to hit me, like … like the hero in the movies?"

Charles's appalled expression and the gasp from Margaret beside him brought him round faster than any slap in the face. "I'm sorry, Charles, I'm sorry," he stammered. "It's just – I'm hanging on by a thread here, you know? I'm sorry….."

Charles patted the hand gripping his forearm and muttered a vague reassurance, trying not to show how unsettled he was. The humour, the confidence, the _Hawkeye_ had evaporated from the man before him, to be replaced by this panic-stricken stranger with Pierce's face, who hardly seemed to know what he was saying.

Hawkeye pushed himself to his feet suddenly, nearly knocking Margaret over. He looked up at the hatch. "I bet if ... if we all push together we can shift it," he said, and he clambered back up the steps. There was desperate hope on his pale face as looked down at them. "Come on!"

Margaret started to protest, but Charles caught her eye and nodded. His own attempt had convinced him that they would have to sit it out and wait for rescue, but perhaps Hawkeye needed to find that out for himself. The three of them pushed together, perched on the narrow stairs, but with no success. Hawkeye was the last to give up, punching the stubborn wood and cursing before slumping down onto the steps, his burst of frantic energy spent.

Margaret took his arm gently. "Why don't you over come by the light so I can look at that cut?" she said.

"Cut?" He touched his cheek, then shook his head. "No, I uh, I need to stay over here, by the….by the way out."

"Fine," said Margaret. "I'll bring the light over."

Charles followed her across the cellar. "I've never seen such an extreme phobic reaction," he whispered. "I didn't know about this, Margaret."

"I only found out when we had to evacuate to that cave last month," replied Margaret softly. "He was terrified - he just couldn't stay in there."

"I was with patients; I hardly saw either of you the whole time. Colonel Potter told me that the two of you had gone back to the camp."

"He couldn't get away fast enough. The shells were nothing to him compared to being in that cave." She looked over to where Hawkeye sat, his shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees and the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. "Charles, what can we do?"

Charles considered for a moment. "If we were back at the camp, I'd give him a light sedative, just to take the edge off and calm him down."

"If we were back at the camp, he wouldn't need calming down," said Margaret tetchily. "And we haven't got a sedative, Charles."

Hawkeye's flat voice made them both jump. "Hey you two, I'm losing my mind, not my hearing."

Margaret picked up the lamp and carried it over to where he sat on the steps. As she crouched in front of him, she could see the strain on his face as he fought a very real, very personal battle for control.

Charles bent to look at Hawkeye's cheek and pressed a clean handkerchief against the cut. "The bleeding's nearly stopped," he said. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I'm fine; I'm fine." Then he realised how ridiculous it sounded, and the words came out in a rush. "No, I'm not. I'm full of adrenaline with nowhere to go. I don't know whether to stand up, sit down, curl up in a ball or run in circles. I keep telling myself everything's going to be fine, but there's something inside me screaming that the walls are closing in, that the roof's going to collapse – that I'm going to die in this place. My heart's going like there's a woodpecker loose in my chest. I'm dizzy; I'm cold; I'm sweating; my head's pounding and there's every chance I may be reacquainted with our picnic very soon." He bit his lip. "I really, _really_ need to get out of here," he whispered.

He started to wipe his hands against his thighs, up and down, up and down. Margaret was suddenly convinced that he would do this until his palms were bleeding and his clothes worn away, and she gently put her hands over his and held them still. He looked down as if surprised, but her touch seemed to calm him a little.

"Wandering hands," he said with a weak smile, and she saw a faint spark of the Hawkeye who had flirted with her earlier.

"Pierce," said Charles, after a rapid mental review of everything he knew about phobias and how to cope with them, "have you been in a situation like this before? Is there anything you've learned in the past that might help now?"

"Plan A, avoid small spaces. Plan B, if Plan A fails, get out fast. Plan C, if avoidance and escape are impossible but there's advance warning, is to go with what I heard you suggesting to Margaret. Flying's a classic example – not the flying, you understand, but the being crammed into a metal tube with other people. I either drink enough so that I don't care, or else I prescribe myself a little something to get through." He shivered suddenly. "I've never got as far as Plan D, but it seems to consist of 'fall apart and babble like a fool'."

Margaret started to say something, then stopped, frowning. "What?" said Hawkeye.

"Well, I don't know if I should be suggesting this, but there's still some beer over there." She waved a hand towards the place where she had dropped the bottles earlier. "What the hell - if you think it might help…" She looked at Charles, who shrugged as if to say it couldn't do any harm.

"Margaret, I never thought I'd hear myself say this but no thanks. My stomach's giving me very strong Do Not Disturb messages."

"You're doing fine," said Margaret, and she got up from her crouch to sit beside him, holding his hand in her lap. "It won't be long."

"How do you know?" he whispered, and his eyes begged for reassurance.

"Because if it was you up there and us down here, you'd be digging with your bare hands to get to us. Our friends will be doing just that, and they'll have radioed for help from the camp too. Just because we can't hear anything doesn't mean there's nothing happening – we can't hear the storm either." _And there's no monster in the closet and no boogeyman under the bed and mommy will always be here to keep you safe._

Her common sense and her practical tone seemed to ease the chaos of his thoughts a little. His breathing was less ragged, and that unnerving staccato quality had gone from his speech. "Well, now you both know what it takes to turn me into a quivering wreck, let's compare notes on the subject," he said with a hideous forced cheeriness. "Margaret told me a while back that she doesn't like loud noises – a perfect qualification for a military career if ever there was one – so what's your particular Achilles heel, Charles? Where's the chink in the Winchester armour?"

Charles hesitated, his brow furrowed. He hated to discuss private matters, especially when they might leave him open to criticism or worse, ridicule, but he also knew that Hawkeye needed to be distracted from thinking about what was happening. He moved away from the steps and sat down with his back to the wall, his face slightly in shadow.

"If you repeat this outside this cellar your life will not be worth living, Pierce," he said eventually. "Clowns." There was silence. "Well, go on – laugh."

"I didn't hear you laughing at me," said Hawkeye.

Margaret nodded. "Tell us, Charles."

Charles picked at the dirt floor with a finger, not meeting their eyes. "When I was about three years old," he said, "there was a birthday party for my mother. Friends, family and neighbours were invited, and because there were a number of children present, my parents had arranged for an entertainer. He was dressed as a clown, complete with white face, red nose and painted smile, but as well as doing the usual ridiculous things with pies and water to make us laugh, he also performed magic tricks. Towards the end of his act he asked for a volunteer and my mother was chosen, presumably by prior arrangement. And he made her disappear. A basic trick with a screen, I realise now, but I was only three and to see my mother vanish was simply….. terrifying. I screamed and screamed. I was inconsolable; even when my mother came back to comfort me, I could not be calmed. Eventually I had to be put to bed." He swallowed. "Later that night, I heard my father saying how embarrassed he had been when I made a scene in front of everyone."

"Oh, Charles," said Margaret.

Charles glanced around the cellar uneasily as if he expected a grinning, painted face to emerge from the gloom. "Ever since that day, the sight of a clown – even a picture of one - has made me break out in a cold sweat. Occasionally I have dreams about them chasing me down an alley at night and I'm ……." He stopped and looked up at them, blinking. "However, clowns are not something one often comes across unexpectedly, and certainly not in a war zone in South Korea, so I am probably safe for the foreseeable future." He smiled that little gone-before-you-see-it smile they had seen before in moments of discomfort and wiped the dirt from his hands.

"You know, if we work things out carefully, we could come up with a perfect plan for the future," said Margaret. "Hawkeye can take my kids to the fireworks, you can play hide-and-seek with his, and I'll be at the circus with yours. It's a perfect arrangement."

"I don't think I could cope with more than one Pierce at a time," said Charles, slightly alarmed at the thought of three or four miniature Hawkeyes running rings around him, leaping out at each other from dark hiding places and plotting together to play ever more inventive and outrageous tricks on other kids.

"No really, Charles, I can see you as a sort of indulgent uncle figure."

"What, you mean beaming benevolently as the local youths destroy my rosebeds with their ball games?"

She smiled at the mental picture. "No, I just think as you mellow in your old age, you might.…"

"Pardon me, Margaret - old age?"

"Well, not _old_ old, just – oh, help me out here, Hawkeye!" she laughed.

Hawkeye didn't respond. He was staring off into the darkness, absently picking at a fingernail, his face blank.

"Hawkeye?" Margaret realised that rather than distracting him, their conversation had passed him by completely. Guilty that she hadn't been paying him more attention, and suddenly frightened, she shook his shoulder and called him again and at last he turned to look at her, his face still distant. "Have you heard anything we've said?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," he said vaguely. "Sure….um, clowns."

"Hawkeye," said Charles softly. "What's happening?"

For a moment Hawkeye didn't answer, but just as Charles was about to ask again he said, almost to himself, "It's like trying to hold back a flood, and there's this cold black stuff leaking through, trickling into my head. I can feel it." He rubbed his eyes. "God, I'm so tired. It would be so easy to just let it come, you know?"

He looked from Charles to Margaret. "Do you think this is what it feels like to lose your mind?" he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**The final chapter – it didn't stretch to 5 after all! Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed.**

**Chapter Four**

Margaret saw Charles looking as shocked as she felt, and perhaps it was the fear on their faces that pulled Hawkeye back from the edge.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm scaring you. I'm scaring _me_." He licked his dry lips. "Talk to me. Just talk to me, Margaret. Help me keep a hold of myself."

_Talk about what_, she thought, and then realised that it didn't matter. "As soon as we get back to camp I'm going to have the longest hot shower ever," she said. "I'm going to scrub this place out of my hair and off my skin, and then I'm going to stand there with my eyes shut and let the warmth seep into every pore. After that I'm going to wrap myself up in my towelling robe, put on some soft music and finish the chocolates I got for my birthday. I think I deserve a little pampering - I must look terrible."

"You look beautiful by lamplight," said Hawkeye softly, surprising her. She'd been expecting – hoping for, perhaps – a snappy comeback about sharing a shower, or a reminder that the chocolates had been his gift. Before she could come up with any kind of answer, Hawkeye's gaze had moved away. "What about you, Charles?" he asked.

"A brisk walk first, I think, to stretch my legs. Then coffee. Even the swill they cook up in the mess tent will taste like the finest Costa Rican beans to my parched palette. This will be followed, as good coffee should be, by a good brandy. And I too shall listen to some music. Real music, Margaret." It was a gentle tease rather than a patronising comment, and her smile thanked him for it, and for his support.

"And you, Pierce?" asked Charles. "No doubt your first actions on returning to civilisation will involve wine and women. Please spare us the song if at all possible."

Pale and exhausted, Hawkeye looked as if any woman over the age of five could have knocked him over with one finger, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face when he answered. "No song, Charles, I promise. As for what I'll do first….." he frowned. "I don't know. I can't seem to think beyond this place." His face clouded, and to stop his mind turning toward the darkness again, he changed the subject quickly. "How about a game of Twenty Questions, Margaret?"

She remembered how he had tried to distract her from the explosions as they had operated that day, and how grateful she had been for his company and his stupid, childish game. But she didn't think that would work for him now. _He needs to imagine himself somewhere else completely_, she realised. _Away from here, away from the fear. _"I've got a better idea," she said. "You were talking earlier about the ocean near your home. Tell us more about that."

Hawkeye stood up, neck tucked into his shoulders as he carefully avoiding looking at the low ceiling. He took a couple of paces and sat down again opposite Charles so that the three of them made a little triangle; Margaret sitting on the steps, with Charles against the wall to her left and Hawkeye on her right. Pulling up his knees and resting his forearms on them, he tilted his head back against the wall. He sat like that for a long moment, eyes shut, and Margaret could almost see the images forming in his mind. Somehow, through instinct and pure dumb luck, she had found a way out for him.

"When was a kid," he said at last, "I would walk right to the end of the wooden jetty, out where I couldn't see land without turning around. I used to sit with my feet in the water and sometimes little fish would nibble at my toes while I looked out at the sea and the sky stretching on and on until they met, way off in the distance. I sat there for hours sometimes, listening to the ocean slapping against the jetty and watching the sun sparkling on the surface, not really thinking about anything." He took a deep breath as if tasting the sea air. "It was warm and peaceful, and everything just seemed _right_. And at the end of the day there might be a sunset like a huge fire in the sky." He frowned slightly. "When it began to get dark, there was that weird, lonely feeling you get on an empty beach at dusk.."

"Its sounds wonderful," said Margaret, willing him to stay in the memory.

Charles realised what she was trying to do. "You mentioned watching storms over the ocean," he said

Hawkeye's eyes were still closed. "Yeah. Sometimes, after a really hot day, you would get these massive electrical storms. Really spectacular, with dark purple clouds and the sky split in two by lightning. But the best storms were in the winter. The wind would come in like an express train, and you could see the spray being blown off the top of the breakers and taste the salt on your lips, even up on the cliffs. You could feel the power of the waves pass through your feet and up through your whole body – it was as if nature was trying to smash the land to pieces. I used to walk for miles along the cliff path without seeing a soul, struggling to stand upright, and sometimes I would shout into the wind and not even hear my own voice. I loved that; it made me feel so alive. And then the storm would start to pass and the sea would calm, and you would get those shafts of sun through the clouds – like searchlights, you know? My Grandma used to tell me that it was the glory of heaven shining through, and any ship that sailed through one of those pools of light was sure to reach port safely."

He paused. "All my best dreams are of home," he said. "Where you can see right to the horizon, and feel the sun and the wind on your face." Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look at Margaret. "And all my nightmares - the really bad ones where you wake up confused and sweating, with a scream stuck in your throat - are of places like this."

From above Margaret's head came a slithering, scraping noise, deafening in the confined space. Hawkeye scuttled backwards, convinced that the roof was coming down on them. Little pieces of dirt and bark fell into Margaret's hair, but she didn't notice.

"It's okay!" she said, going to comfort him just as she had when all this started. This time Charles was just behind her, putting a reassuring hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "It's okay," she said again. "They've come for us."

The hatch opened and a flashlight shone down. _The glory of heaven_, thought Margaret.

"Are you guys okay down there?" came Klinger's voice.

"Yes, we're all right!" shouted Charles. "We're coming up!"

Hawkeye released his iron grip on Margaret's arm. "Ladies first," he said.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, pushing him towards the light.

Eager hands pulled him up and he stumbled through the ruins of the hut, not hearing the concerned voices around him. The worst of the storm had passed, but it was still raining hard. He reached the edge of the clearing and fell to his knees, one hand against a tree trunk for support. For a moment he just knelt there, eyes closed, breathing in the sweet fresh air, oblivious to the rain soaking through his clothes. Then he spluttered and coughed and brought up what felt like every meal he'd ever eaten. It seemed to go on forever but as the spasms finally subsided he became aware of a hand resting on his back.

"I'm okay, Margaret," he croaked, spitting into the grass and wiping his mouth.

"Wow, you really have lost it," said a familiar voice, and he looked up to see BJ's anxious face. The tall man held out a hand to help him up. "Come on, let's get you home."

Hawkeye took his hand, mumbling thanks. "No problem," said BJ, guiding him back towards the group of people and vehicles. "I seem to recall you doing much the same thing for me, the day I got here. I was green in more ways than one, and more scared than I'd ever been." He hesitated. "I'm sorry I wasn't with you, Hawk."

"Margaret and Charles were incredible," said Hawkeye. "I think I owe them my sanity."

They climbed into the bus, to find Charles and Margaret waiting for them. "Is he okay?" asked Klinger from the driver's seat, and Hawkeye nodded tiredly.

"I am now, thanks," he said. "Kind of empty, but okay."

"Do you want to lie down?" asked BJ, moving towards one of the spaces reserved for stretchers, but Hawkeye shook his head.

"No, I want to look out. I want to see the sky." He took a seat near the front of the bus.

"It's nearly dark, Hawk," said BJ gently.

"Yeah, but the sky's still there. That makes all the difference." He rested his forehead against the cool glass and gazed out. BJ put a blanket around Hawkeye's damp shoulders and sat down next to him.

Father Mulcahy's face appeared at the door. "Thank heaven you're all safe," he said, his eyes lingering for a second on Hawkeye. "Klinger, the rest of us are going to stay and help Mr Kim clear up. Why don't you and BJ get these three back to camp?"

"Sure thing, Father." Klinger ground the gears and they moved off.

"Tell us what was going on while we were down there," said Charles. "We couldn't hear a thing."

"Buried alive," muttered Hawkeye, rubbing his eyes, and BJ gave him a worried glance.

"Well," he stared. "We got a radio message from Father Mulcahy saying that lightning had struck a shed and that he didn't know if you three were in it at the time or in the cellar below, but you needed help either way. So the Colonel got about a dozen of us together, and we jumped into one of the ambulances and this bus and started off in one hell of a hurry. On the way, we got another message to say they'd cleared away what they could but there was a mess of branches that needed more people to shift them, and a whole tree seemed to have landed over the entrance to the cellar, which was where you must all be because they hadn't found you in the wreckage. We were pretty relieved, I can tell you, although we still didn't know if anyone was hurt. I knew Hawkeye must be going through hell if he was stuck down there. Anyway, we got here in record time and helped to shift the rest of the stuff, then we hitched the bus and the ambulance up to the tree and pulled it away, and there you are. Can't have been more than forty five minutes from the time we got the call to the time we got you out."

"It seemed like forever," said Margaret, shivering. "Didn't it, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye didn't answer. He was asleep, his head bumping gently against the window as they drove through water-filled ruts and potholes. BJ reached over and shifted his friend's weight onto his own shoulder.

Hawkeye woke up just enough to be helped into the Swamp and onto his cot, but he was asleep again before his head hit the pillow. They took off his boots and covered him with a blanket, and BJ sat with him while Margaret went to have her shower and Charles fetched coffee for all of them. But neither Charles nor Margaret got their relaxing evening or their soft music. With BJ, they took turns sitting beside Hawkeye's cot throughout the night, in case he woke up and thought, even for a second, that he was back in that dark cellar. Other visitors, Klinger, Colonel Potter and Father Mulcahy among them, came and went as the story got around, but Hawkeye wasn't conscious of any of it until he woke up fourteen hours later, ravenous.

Having eaten his way through most of the mess tent menu without a single smart comment about the quality of the food, he went to Colonel Potter and asked a favour, which the Colonel granted gladly. That evening, Margaret found a note pinned to her door inviting her to the Swamp for a nightcap. Hawkeye and Charles were waiting there.

"Where's BJ?" she asked.

"Post-op duty," said Hawkeye, inviting her to sit. "_My_ post-op duty in fact. He insisted." He waited until she was settled. "Listen, I don't want to get all gushy about it, but I really wanted to thank you both for yesterday. Last night. Whatever. I don't think I – no, I _know_ I couldn't have made it through without you. Will you join me in a drink?"

Charles eyed the infamous still. "Pierce, you're very welcome for whatever help we could offer, but I'm not sure that this new camaraderie extends to my drinking your firewater."

"I thought you'd say that," Hawkeye said, reaching under his bunk, "so I got this instead." He produced three bottles of beer, the very ones that they had been liberating when disaster struck the night before.

"Hawkeye, you went back?" Margaret was flabbergasted.

"Into that cellar? No way - you think I'm nuts? The Colonel let me take a jeep back over to the orphanage this afternoon, and Mr Kim very kindly retrieved these three bottles for me. We'll be rebuilding his hut for him, by the way." He removed the caps and handed them round, then raised his drink in a toast. "To you, Charles. Thanks for helping me fight the clowns. I think we got to know each other more during an hour yesterday than we have since the day we first met. And to you, Margaret, for refusing to give up on me. God knows I was ready to." He smiled, and the twinkle was definitely back in his eyes. "And you _do_ look beautiful in lamplight – let's just make it a more enjoyable atmosphere the next time, okay?"

They all drank, and there was a slightly awkward silence.

"This beer is dreadful," said Hawkeye.

"Truly appalling," agreed Charles.

"What the hell," said Margaret. "We've survived worse. Here's to loud explosions." She tipped her bottle back again.

"To clowns," said Charles, taking a long swallow.

Hawkeye did likewise. "To small spaces," he said, then hiccupped as the warm, over-fizzy liquid repeated on him. "And bad booze. May we seldom have to face them, and never without friends."

The End 


End file.
